Subtext
by Jellicos
Summary: Short CatherineSara ficlet, mature themes and mentioning of BDSM. Femslash.


_Disclaimer: Property of Jerry Bruckheimer and his minions, I own nothing._

_Warnings: Femslash with a slight BDSM theme, nothing graphic, but you have been warned:)_

_Feedback is much appreciated and well rounded critizism is gold:)_

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It was one of those nights, the kind were everything seems to happen at once and we are called to take care of those who paid for it.

The air is thick with the heavy odour of death pretending to carry the smell from the dumpster a few yards down. The uniforms standing watch as chattering guard dogs pretend not to be affected by human cruelty by exchanging football scores over splattered brain substance.

My flashlight tells me were to put my feet as I bow down to the yellow tape surrounding the horror, to find her crouching by the lifeless form that is probably getting more attention now that for the bigger part of his life.

I ban my emotions from my mind as I take in his tattered clothes, his far too drawn face and the seemingly new and expensive belt buckle that doesn't fit the picture.

"Start with some pictures, then help Nick with the perimeter." She instructs; her hair flying over her shoulder as she turns to glance at me. I nod my head and get my camera, capturing this man's worst moment for eternity in a box.

"That belt…" I say and she nods her head, indicating she's noticed.

"It doesn't fit." She reads my mind as she bags and tags little seemingly unimportant details like she's picking flees of his back.

"No wallet." She points out and I remember Brass telling me the man still doesn't have a name in our minds. I can't help thinking how funny it is that for hours, maybe days and sometimes forever, a whole identity can be erased in a matter of moments if you fail to keep your wallet in your pocket.

I watch them for a moment as I replace my camera in its confinement and grab my kit. He is completely unaware of how her eyes are scanning every inch of his being, for that; he'd have to be dead.

As I make my way towards Nick's hunched over frame, I see David leaning against a gurney, waiting patiently for us to finish assaulting his patient so he can begin.

"Hey Nick, what you got?" I ask and it takes him a moment to abandon his work to look at me.

"Sara, hey." His face turns into that heart warming smile we all love him for before he turns his eyes to the dark pavement and thick cold brick wall in front of us and a sigh escapes him. "Not much to work with." He declares; a hint of frustration in his voice. I nod my head at his back.

"I'll take the dumpster." I offer for reasons unknown to all but me and I see the relief in his eyes.

"It's all yours." His smile widens and I offer him one back before following the stench in the air to my destination.

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She does try to hide the smirk on her face as I walk in the door, the shower lessening but not eliminating the traces from my encounter with the dumpster. She looks pleased, though I doubt anyone else would see it.

"Hand me those tweezers, will you?" She asks, holding out her hand without looking up from the work on her desk. She doesn't move until the object is in her glove clad hand and then she utters a quick 'thanks' before removing a strain of hair from the fabric, her movements careful and precise.

"Were do you want me?" I ask as she finishes labelling the small zip lock bag in her hand.

"Uhm…" She looks up, but at the doorway, not at me. "We still don't have anything on those tire treads." She says and I nod my head as she finally looks at me.

"I'm on it." I say and she holds out the tiny bag of hair before I can turn towards the door.

"Mind dropping this off with Hodges on you way?" She asks as if I would refuse.

"Sure." I offer as I take the bag from her and she sends me a small smile before leaving me for the items on the table.

I don't mind, I never do. We both know the game and we both know who's in charge.

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Her demeanour is always the same as she knocks on the door, her back straight, head lifted high as she cocks it to the side with a little smirk. She's Catherine from work, Catherine with complete confidence in her step and that sway in her hip.

She's Catherine from work as I close the door and offer her some tea that she always declines. Even as I open the back door for her, she's almost cocky in her stride.

It's when the door closes and my face hardens that her eyes fail to meet mine. It's when I order her up against the wall that the soft tremble starts in her hands.

I can't deny that I love watching her like this; that I don't smile when she trembles under my gaze. I try denying that it tugs at my heart when she whimpers my name or how she helplessly writhes in the leather cuffs that keep her upright.

She's still strong, she's still Catherine, but now she's vulnerable and trusting, relenting her body into my care and for moments at a time I get lost in her eyes.

For a few hours a week, she's mine, utterly and completely in my power. The high is intoxicating but the pleading in her eyes peels away slices of my heart.

I used to love the first part of our meetings, when she still shows a hint of resistance and I get to be the one to break it.

Now, it's simply the foreplay for the moments after when I release her limp body and she curls up into me like a tried kitten.

I let her rest in my lap, feel her breath evening out as her body regains its strength. I move the sweat soaked hair from her face but remain silent. It's the end of our meeting and when her body catches its breath, it will regain its powerful stride away from me.

As I feel her body tense in the effort to rise from the floor, I feel my resistance towards her departure growing. She doesn't look at me as she whispers her thanks and gets up on her knees to rise to full length. But there is something in the fresh colour in her cheeks, or the sound of her voice that urges me to break our rule.

Her lips are cold and her body motionless as I press my mouth against hers. My hopelessly beating heart slows down to a halt as she remains still, arms hanging limply by her kneeling form.

As I turn and walk away, she has yet to move and as I get into my car for the drive home, I feel the void of her lips.

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The cool liquid is bitter on my tongue and I abandon the flask on the table. It doesn't remove the hollowness against my lips and the taste is making my stomach cry bloody murder.

The knock on my door is unexpected, but the face crashing against me through my peephole shocks me enough check it twice.

"Catherine?" She doesn't meet my eye and her hands are trembling ever so slightly.

"May I come in?" She asks; her voice frail, just strong enough to carry her words.

"Yeah, of course." I step aside to let her pass, watching her move without looking up at me. Her nervous demeanour worries me.

I watch her for a moment as her eyes dart over the floor of my apartment, up against the walls and back down again, as if seeing too much at a time would hurt her eyes.

"Are you okay?" I ask, a seemingly idiotic question, but the only one I can think of. She turns towards me with a little smile.

"Yeah, fine." She says as her eyes dart back down and she wrings her hands together.

"Can I get you anything?" It's the last question I've got and I hope her answer will get me some time to wrap my mind around this.

"Tea?" She asks and I frown. "If… you have any." She adds and I find my self at a loss. There is only one other time and place were I have seen her like this and that makes me even more uncertain of the reason for her visit.

"Of course." I tell her as I walk behind the kitchen isle to pour some water on ready made bags, my mind racing but nothing makes sense.

We sit in silence on my rarely used sofa as I study how her hands wrap around her steaming cup, like a child cradling a baby bird.

Silence doesn't bother me, but the unspoken question hanging from her lips is making my fingers itch and she looks up at me with wide eyes as I move closer and release the cup from her hands.

"Catherine…" I need her to speak, to ask the question that's burning through her body, making her scared and uncertain.

"Can I stay?" She asks; her voice somewhere between hopeful and frightened and it takes me a while to realise her meaning and importance of the subtext in her words.

"Yes." I say emphatically and am thrown by the force by which her lips crash against mine, sending me tumbling backwards until my hands find stability around her waist. This time her lips are warms and moist, moving against mine as if in search of something. There is a soft creak from the cushions underneath us from our movements or the extra weight of the expanding feeling in my chest.

When her lips desert mine, there is a distinct change in the air as she flicks her hair over her shoulder, her reddened lips playing a familiar grin.

"Good," she says as she pushes me down on my back. "Enough games." She whispers before her lips brush against mine, softly this time.

I couldn't agree more.

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_Thanks for reading! _


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